


Chrysopylae

by tunemyart



Category: Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen, I love them so much, my kingdom for a Janeway cameo (at the very least!) in Picard S2, they have a really complicated relationship y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29592522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunemyart/pseuds/tunemyart
Summary: After the synth attacks on Mars, Seven of Nine seeks out Kathryn Janeway in San Francisco.
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway & Seven of Nine
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	Chrysopylae

It was a cool autumn day in San Francisco when Seven arrived.

This was almost exactly the opposite of the humid, heated summer climate she’d walked into when disembarking from Voyager for the last time nearly seven years ago. The buildings, the bay, the bridge – they all looked much the same, but it wasn’t nearly enough to conceal the change in the social atmosphere that spoke more than physical structures ever could.

There were a wide variety of species represented in those who were milling about, a large proportion of them in Starfleet uniform, enough so that Seven and her ocular implant were hardly given a second glance by most of them. Seven years ago anonymity would have been impossible. It was more of a relief than she’d hoped for to be able to walk through this public space without attracting unwanted attention.

Why was she here? Seven’s fingers hovered over her communications device, unable to answer the question satisfactorily. An hour passed, then two, and still she hesitated to put a call through.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

It was obvious when she recognized Seven. Seven pushed through her sudden, inexplicable nerves and to her feet, and the motion seemed to be enough to spur Admiral Kathryn Janeway to change her course and resume her stride.

“Seven,” she greeted. Despite the years, she had changed very little from their days on Voyager, from her crisply pressed uniform to the careful coif of her auburn hair, now shot through with the first streaks of grey. There was a pleased wonder on her face that Seven soaked in helplessly, even as she tensed in anticipation of the conversation to come. “Not that I’m not glad to see you – I am, very much – but what brings you here?”

Lacking a definitive answer to even such a simple question, Seven answered truthfully enough, “I was hoping to see you.”

Kathryn didn’t comment on the cryptic answer, no doubt putting it down to Seven’s nature, and spread her arms. “Well, here I am,” she said. “Did your plan stop there, or did you have something further in mind?”

There was a slight curve to her lips that indicated that Seven was being teased and betrayed Kathryn’s deep affection for her all at once. Seven had missed both, but couldn’t afford to let either of them dwell in it.

“Somewhere more out of the way, perhaps,” she suggested.

Kathryn’s expression immediately grew more serious, correctly intuiting her meaning with a quick glance around and a decisive nod.

“Let’s take a short walk,” she said, and with a familiar hand at Seven’s elbow, guided her out of the busy square.

Seven pieced together that her destination was one of the sloping, grassy hills that fell under the auspices of Starfleet’s sprawling complex. She could certainly admire the pleasing aesthetics of it, and more, she was glad to be away from the more insistently hulking presence of Starfleet in the form of its buildings, offices, and academy.

Kathryn had wondered aloud to her just the once why Seven hadn’t pursued a career in Starfleet the way Icheb had. _There’s a place for you, if you want it,_ she’d said, her voice earnest. Seven hadn’t doubted that there would be – or at the very least, that it _would_ exist if Seven so much as indicated her interest, that it would part and bow helplessly in the act of creation before Kathryn’s not inconsiderable will. Seven had more than enough experience with that to believe otherwise.

_I think that a path in Starfleet is incorrect for me, Admiral,_ she’d answered.

Kathryn hadn’t pressed her, reading something in her bearing that she’d wanted to keep private – at least for the moment. Neither had she asked the obvious next question. Instead she’d simply laughed and said, _Oh for God’s sake, we’re friends, Seven; call me Kathryn._

“You look well,” Kathryn began. “The new look - it's very different, but also somehow very you.”

Seven looked down at her new, looser attire. The better for anonymity – such as her implants would permit – but also, she simply liked it. “Thank you,” she said.

“I hear you’ve started going by ‘Annika’. Is that how you’d prefer me to call you?”

It wasn’t. “No. I’d prefer you call me ‘Seven’, as you always have.”

“Alright then,” Kathryn said affably. “Can I ask why the name switch at all?”

Seven cast her a wry look, unsure whether to be flattered or dismayed that she’d apparently been keeping tabs on her. “It seemed like a prudent measure to take – not constantly opening myself up for questions or reminding my colleagues of my Borg origins, especially given the current social climate.”

“I see,” Kathryn said, but her voice had gone very quiet, and Seven knew it wouldn’t be long before she’d pieced together the impetus behind, if not the reasons for, Seven’s visit. “And how has that worked out?”

“Not well,” Seven admitted.

The Golden Gate Bridge stretched out before them, a stark red against the vibrant greens and blues of their natural surroundings. Kathryn slowed to a stop and sat in the grass, Seven following suit as she waited for Kathryn to voice whatever was currently formulating in her mind.

“Do you know why they named it the Golden Gate Bridge?”

Kathryn’s questions were still the non sequiturs they’d always been, though Seven still trusted that there would be a reason revealed at the end of the road if she chose to go down it. She raised an eyebrow, which Kathryn correctly parsed as an invitation to continue.

“It’s a common misconception that it’s related to the gold rush of the late 1800’s, although the name was apropos enough when it really got underway. The bridge takes the name from the channel it runs over, which was named after the Bosphorus straights in Istanbul.” Her voice took on a little more wryness, an invitation to share amusement. “The name he actually wanted was _Chrysopylae,_ although that never caught on, and he and the world had to make do with the English translation.”

“The ‘gold’ was a metaphor, then?”

Kathryn laughed, but the sound had turned weary. “Yes. It meant what it had for millennia already on this planet by that point. Trade. Opportunity. Exploration.”

There were darker sides to those things which Seven knew well. She didn’t bother verbalizing it if only because some awareness of it was already in Kathryn’s eyes – as well as because despite that awareness, she knew that Kathryn would never be able to fully understand. The red of her uniform glowed brighter than the red of the bridge under the midday sun.

“I can see why Starfleet would want to associate itself with that kind of established meaning,” Seven settled for saying.

“Yes,” Kathryn replied on a sigh, “you really can, can’t you?” She paused for a minute and turned to look at Seven, assessing her fully in a way Seven had long been expecting. “I get the sense this isn’t a social call,” she said, her face not betraying what she’d found in her assessment. “Although I wouldn’t have minded one of those either, Seven, I have to say. It’s been what – two years?”

There was a note of chastisement in her voice, and Seven supposed it was warranted. Seven hadn’t told her how uncomfortable returning to San Francisco had made her after the months of briefings after Voyager’s return and Starfleet’s unsettling medical and scientific interest in her. Perhaps Kathryn already knew of the latter. Seven had always suspected that it had taken some anonymous inside influence to make them stand down from subjecting her to the tests and experiments they had wanted to run on her.

“Yes,” Seven affirmed. “Two years.”

Kathryn stopped and took the opportunity to scrutinize Seven more fully. For once, Seven permitted it. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m also getting the sense that you could use some help with something.”

Seven’s lips did quirk at that. “I think this situation is a little beyond the scope of what you can help with, Admiral,” she said, but not unkindly.

“Why don’t you just try me,” was the firm response.

It was predictable and comforting in equal measure; and Seven, who had come here for reasons she still, illogically, couldn’t define, felt herself surprised again more by the comfort than the predictability. The predictability was likely one of those undefined things that had drawn her here. The comfort, however – she hesitated over even the thought of it. She hadn’t thought herself in need of comfort.

Seven didn’t respond, having found that there was a psychosomatic obstruction in her throat preventing her from doing so. A moment of allowing herself to relax into the present moment – the breeze off the bay, the sun on her skin, the pleasant tickle of soft grass around her hands and legs – was enough for Kathryn’s gaze, steely and determined as ever, to ease somewhat on her when Seven next looked towards her, leaving something softer and more compassionate in its place.

“This isn’t the same Starfleet I served in for twenty years, you know,” Kathryn said, seemingly apropos of nothing. “I think it’s a human tendency to not consider that things change once they’re outside of our periphery, however unconsciously done, but all the same, I didn’t expect… _this.”_

It was a relief to hear it spoken of so plainly, and by Kathryn in particular. “You could have resigned your commission,” Seven said without censure. “Others did.”

But Kathryn shook her head. “Others shouldn’t have,” she said, bitterness making her voice sharp before it, along with her bearing, softened again. “And no - I couldn’t have. It would have been foolish to throw away the only leverage I have. There are few enough reasonable voices left in Starfleet leadership; there was never any sense in leaving them weaker for the sake of protest when there was still at least some hope to do any good. I had hoped – well. I suppose we all had unrealistic visions of what life would be like when we returned home.” Her smile was self-deprecating. “I shouldn’t be so surprised that I bought into them too. There was so little hope to sustain us out there for all those years. But still, I’d hoped – for you, especially – that returning to Earth could be a new start.”

“You’re disappointed,” observed Seven.

Kathryn looked up and nodded. “In some very specific things, yes,” she said. “But never you.”

It wasn’t what Seven had come here to hear. _Then what are you here for?_ Kathryn’s voice asked her in her mind. Rather than answer the question, Seven told the Kathryn before her, “I’ve been considering joining the Fenris Rangers.”

Kathryn started. “The Rangers?” she repeated, caution entering her expression. “You do know that they’re … “

“I’m aware,” Seven said. “But I also – cannot continue doing nothing.”

Kathryn appeared pained. “Seven, it’s hardly ‘nothing’ that you’ve accomplished – “

“I believe you know what I mean,” Seven interrupted her. “I’ve become used to at least trying to make a difference.”

“You’re ascribing that to habit?” Kathryn said, latent amusement creeping into her tone despite the more obvious worry.

Seven shrugged. “Much of our personalities are comprised of our habits,” she said. “In spite of our initial disagreements… mine were formed years ago.”

“I suppose they were,” Kathryn said after a long moment. Seven didn’t look at her, strongly suspecting that she would find more affection that she thought she might be able to bear in this moment.

“Well, I certainly can’t stop you, and you seem to know what you’re getting into,” Kathryn said eventually. “Just… do me a favor?” At Seven’s cautious nod, she said, “Don’t let yourself get too lonely out there.”

“Your concern is duly noted,” Seven said dryly, but Kathryn shook her head.

“I mean it, Seven,” she said. “I know I don’t need to tell you that it’s not good for you, for any human, but I also know _you._ I can see at least some of what the last two years of your life have been like for you in your face and way you've been holding yourself. I’ll refrain from saying I wish you would have come to me, to any of us, before now, and simply say - please, take care of yourself.”

None of these thoughts were new to Seven, and she deliberately softened her voice to say, “I do appreciate your concern. I hope – " she said, and cut herself off, still shy to admit something so human as wanting, even to herself. “I hope it won’t be a problem.”

Kathryn saw through her, of course. “Mmm,” she replied, and snuck a sideways glance that Seven caught in her peripheral vision. “It could be a new kind of collective.”

Seven didn’t say as much, but was sure her silence was confirmation enough that her thoughts had been along similar lines. “It was easier on Voyager,” was all she admitted.

“In a lot of ways,” Kathryn agreed on a laugh that turned into a wistful sigh. “If I’d known then that I’d be sitting here now and thinking such an absurd thing – fighting my way through the Delta quadrant on luck and nerve…” she trailed off. “Our problems were a lot smaller, as insurmountable as they seemed at the time. I knew who my crew was, and they knew me, and I knew that no matter how we ended up coming through, we’d come through together.” She regained her smile when she looked at Seven. “I miss it sometimes, I’ll admit. Even after everything.”

After a long moment and a tightness in her chest that surprised Seven, she admitted, “As do I.” Kathryn’s eyes turned soft, uncomfortably close to pity if it weren’t for the empathy borne of shared experience tempering that softness. “I miss,” Seven rushed to say, and uncharacteristically stumbled over herself. “I miss the ease that characterized the relationships I had on Voyager.”

But Kathryn laughed at that. “I wouldn’t exactly characterize our relationship as ‘easy’, Seven.”

“Maybe not,” Seven said. “But as you said – I knew who you were. You knew who I was. Maybe we didn’t always like or agree with each other’s actions, but there was a… certain understanding. A respect. Trust.”

“Yes,” Kathryn agreed. She seemed to understand Seven’s meaning in a way that proved Seven’s point without words, without conscious understanding, and Seven fidgeted with an ache she suspected she’d always live with.

The wind blew around them then, filling the quiet. Here on the grassy banks of the San Francisco bay it all seemed so far away. Her relationship to this woman seemed to exist in both times, then and now, with the cavernous space of the years in between yawning like a vacuum Seven would never be able to fill. Now the idyllic objective beauty of their surroundings pressed down on them, so slowly and insidiously that she hardly noticed until the pressure was unbearable. Now she was crushed, now adrift, all the things that she’d lost and could never be suspended in between, perpetually just out of her reach.

_You plucked me out of the universe,_ Seven would have said if she could have articulated it. _You set me between two worlds, neither of which I can ever fully inhabit. You set a challenge for me I’ll never be able to meet. You wouldn’t give up on me, you refused to give me up, you bartered parts of yourself for parts of myself, you clawed them back from the Borg one step at a time. I can never repay you, and yet you’ll never understand what you've done to me, or how much of yourself you've left behind._

Seven had wondered in her darker moments if Kathryn had really ever thought this could be enough: wanting, more and more with every year, and knowing she’d never be able to accurately discern the source of it. Seven would always bear the scars of her assimilation into not just one, but two cultures. She would always be clutching the markers of the last assimilation – so many of them courtesy of Kathryn Janeway, each more personal than the last – close to her heart like a child.

And hovering on the cusp of a new self, entropy pulling the universe apart around her, Kathryn stubbornly at her side – yes, she’d been here before. If she lived long enough, perhaps she’d be here again.

Unaware, Kathryn breathed deeply next to her. “Well,” she settled on saying, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “None of that’s changed, even if the rest of the universe has.”

“No,” Seven said. It was why she was here.

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want,” Kathryn continued, though she didn’t press. “As long as you need.”

And if Seven smiled, she doubted that Kathryn could fully parse it. “It’s beautiful here,” she said. Some might even call the quality of the light golden as it edged toward sunset.

Kathryn accepted the refusal as gracefully as she ever had. “Then let’s stay a while longer.”


End file.
